Cold As Ice
by Lady Cyclamen
Summary: What if Draco Malfoy had gone to Durmstrang instead of Hogwarts? What if he came back? At the start of the 5th year term, Draco returns to England and Hogwarts. Durmstrang has made him cold inside, and meeting Harry Potter isn't helping the hurt. AU; DmHp
1. Chapter One

_Drum roll please! Now for the world to see I have finally decided to start posting my fanfics, and this is the first one so far. I'm warning those of you who do not like slash that this story contains __slash__ (i.e.: homosexual relationships) and rather than flame me incessantly, you would be better off not reading if you find slash offensive.  Also, this is and AU story (alternate universe) so not everything is as it is in the books. I've decided to start it in the beginning of Harry's fifth year, disregarding the events of _OotP_. Now I hope you all like this, and please review. Also, keep in mind that I am in need of a beta reader, and anyone is welcome._

_And for all you lawyers out there: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to the great J.K. Rowling and I am in no way trying to claim her ideas as my own. I have created this story and used her characters and situations simply for my own overactive imagination to have something to do, and for the enjoyment of other overactive imaginations. I do not intend to make any kind of profit from this story._

Chapter 1

The freezing cold wind ripped across the deck of the magic ship, filling the ice white sails, tearing through cloak and fur, leaving behind icy breath, wind burned cheeks, and frozen bones.  Draco Malfoy stood stock still at the prow of the vessel, ignoring the cold, not a single shiver moving his tall, lean frame. His icy gray eyes gazed out over the cold waters out to the distant horizon, their stormy depths a thousand times colder than the terrible wind that sent the rest of the passengers down into the warmer bowels of the ship. 

            For the past four years of his life, Draco had been going to school at Durmstrang, due to his father's connections with the headmaster, Igor Karkaroff. But since Karkaroff's recent disappearance after the Tri-Wizard tournament and the return of the Dark Lord, his father saw no point in Draco continuing his education there, as he had gone there solely for the _special_ tutelage Karkaroff allowed him. So now, he would return home for the summer, and when the school term began again, he would continue his education at Hogwarts, in England.

            Draco finally allowed a slight shiver to course through his body, not from the cold outside, but from the ice within. The cold, frozen feeling that meant he was going home.

**********

            Platform nine and three quarters was buzzing with Hogwarts students and their parents. First years said tearful goodbyes to their families as old friends exchanged greetings and tales of the summer's escapades. Halfway down the platform, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger stood out amongst the cloud of red hair that was the Weasley family.  Mrs. Weasley was doling out last minute goodbyes and advice as the train whistle blew.

            "Now Fred, George, do try not to get yourselves into trouble again. If I hear one word about Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I'll - "

            "Now mother dear, what would make you think we would do anything of the sort?" Fred cut in, grinning at his mother.

            Mrs. Weasley frowned at the twins, but was forced to cut herself off as the train whistle blew again. "Now all of you, go get on the train before it leaves you behind. Ginny, Hermione, have fun dears. You too, Ron. And Harry, do be careful," she said as he shepherded them all onto the train.

            Draco Malfoy sneered as he watched the mostly red headed crowd retreat toward the train. Red hair, shabby clothes, and lots of children: If those weren't the Weasleys then he was a house elf. He didn't recognize the girl with the bushy brown hair, but there was someone else in that crowd that interested him far more. His eyes followed the thin boy with the messy black hair and glasses as he trailed the Weasleys onto the train. That woman had called him Harry, he was positive about that. Harry, with muggle clothes too big for his thin body, soot black hair that was horribly shaggy, and a pair of round glasses that he constantly had to shove back into place with one finger. Could this be the Boy Who Lived? The famous Harry Potter who had almost destroyed the Dark Lord before he could utter his first word? Draco scoffed in disdain as he followed the pathetic "hero" onto the train.

            As he climbed onto the train, Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck lift up, as if something was boring into the back of his head. On instinct he turned around, just in time to catch an unfamiliar face glaring back at him. The boy was tall, with silver blonde hair, a sneer fixed on a face with sharp, pointed features. He was too old to be a first year, but Harry had never seen him before. The stranger didn't seem to notice Harry looking back at him, as if he were deep in thought. Feeling slightly unsettled, Harry turned back around and followed Hermione onto the train, looking for an empty compartment.

            When they had finally found a compartment near the end of the train, stowed their bags away, and sat down in their seats, Harry decided to mention the strange boy he had seen while boarding the train. "Ron, Hermione, did you notice anyone unusual while we were getting on the train?"

            Ron gave Harry a curious look at the same time Hermione said, "No Harry, why? Did you see something?"

            "Well, yeah, sort of," Harry said, "When we were getting on the train, I felt like there was someone watching me. When I turned around I saw this boy, he looked to be our age; I'm positive I have never seen before. He was staring right at me, in fact he was glaring at me, but he didn't notice me turn around."

            "Exchange student?" Ron guessed.

            "Maybe," Hermione said, crossing her arms on her chest thoughtfully, "But then why was he glaring at you, Harry? What did he look like?"

            "He was tall, and he wore wizard clothes. They looked really expensive too. He was blonde, and he didn't exactly look happy to see me," Harry said, the image of the strange boy floating in his mind.

            Just then, the door to their compartment slid open. In the doorway stood the exact same boy that Harry had seen on the platform.  Close up Harry could see the proud set of the boy's shoulders, and the cool disdain that radiated from his gray eyes. On his cloak was what seemed to be some sort of family crest. There was a large M entwined with a white snake. The clasps that the boy undid to take off the cloak were worked silver; his hands were covered by black leather gloves, which he removed as well.

            "Mind if I sit with you?" he said in a voice that would have been polite, if it weren't for the haughty drawl that accompanied it. Ron, who for some odd reason had turned a rather unbecoming shade of crimson, spluttered incoherently as the stranger sat down without waiting for an answer. He laid his cloak neatly across his lap, and took his time folding his gloves. Underneath the cloak, he wore a green silk shirt so dark it was almost black. When he was finally finished, his cold gray eyes locked on Harry's, and Harry suddenly felt a chill settle in his stomach. "My name is Draco Malfoy. And _you_ are Harry Potter," he said.

            "Yeah he is, and what is that to you? You – you, MALFOY!" Ron burst out, "Get tired of studying the darks arts with your father, eh Malfoy? Is that why you've suddenly decided to show up at Hogwarts? Or did someone _else_ send you here?" Ron glared daggers at the blonde boy.

            Draco Malfoy turned his gaze to Ron, the depths of his eyes boiling with a storm just barely held in check, "Didn't your mother ever tell you it was best to think before opening your mouth, Weasley, or was she too busy digging at the dump for food?"

            Ron made to grab for Draco's throat, but Hermione put a calming hand on his arm, firmly holding him to his seat. She gave Draco a calculating look, "First impressions last forever . . . Draco. And you are not making a very good one. What are you getting at?" She said.

            "I had intended only to meet a few of my peers, as well as to see," he again turned his unsettling eyes to Harry, "who the famous Harry Potter really is. To get a more _realistic_ picture," he kept his eyes locked on Harry's, raising one eyebrow, "but someone here seems intent on preventing me from making a good first impression," his eyes flicked towards Ron. "Now, perhaps I should start again. My name is Draco, and yours is Harry," he stuck out his right hand, and shook Harry's. Then he turned to Ron, "I didn't catch your first name, you are . . ."

            "Ron, my name is Ron Weasley," said Ron, glowering at Draco daring him to try to shake his hand. Draco didn't.

            He turned to Hermione, who again seemed to be trying to read him as if he were a library book, "I'm Hermione Granger," she said, holding out her hand. 

            Draco gently shook it, and the train compartment filled with an awkward silence. 

            A few moments later, Hermione spoke up, "So why are you here, Draco? Why start at Hogwarts in your fifth year?"

            "Only that my father decided it would be better for me to finish my education at Hogwarts, since the recent trouble with Durmstrang's headmaster.

            Ron muttered something incoherent that the others chose to ignore.

            "You were at Durmstrang before?" Harry said

            "Oh yes, my father believed the exchange experience would do me some good, but reconsidered."

            "So why didn't you come to the Tri-Wizard Tournament?" Harry asked.

            "I was of course, too young," he raised an eyebrow at Harry, "and so watched the tournament from our school. Your headmaster was kind enough to set up a spell to let us cheer our players from there. I saw it all, Harry, I wouldn't have missed it for the world," he replied.

            Harry turned slightly pink as he mentally scolded himself for asking such a stupid question.

            "I also must say, Harry, that from what I have seen you are a remarkable flier. I should like to play against you one day, one on one," Draco's cold eyes lit up with a challenge.

            It was Harry's turn to raise an eyebrow, "Perhaps we will, Draco."

            The rest of the ride was spent in an awkward exchange of words, Draco filled with his ever-present confidence, Ron spending the whole time grumbling and muttering to himself, and Hermione remaining unusually quiet as she studied the blonde boy. As he spoke, Harry felt as if he were feeling his way blindly in the dark, unable to tell exactly where he was with Draco, and afraid to stumble into anything unpleasant. Draco remained incredibly formal; his face blank of expression except for those eyes, colder than Harry had ever believed was humanly possible. As the train neared the end of its journey, Hermione left the compartment and the boys changed into their school robes, watching the lights of Hogsmeade speed toward the train in the dark.

            When they were done, the train started to slow down, Hermione reappeared in her robes. The tiny compartment was now filled with four black clad figures, Ron's red and Draco's silver blonde hair standing out against the stark black of their Hogwarts uniforms. Taking another look at Draco, Harry could see that his robes were made of a much finer fabric than theirs, but cut and fashioned exactly the same. Whoever this Draco was, money was not a problem for him.

            Soon the train stopped, and students began to file out onto the platform. From near the end came a deep booming voice shouting, "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! This way! Move along!" Hagrid's head and shoulders moved above the growing crowd of first years around him as he called across the platform.

            Smiling, Harry waved and shouted, "Hi Hagrid!"

            Hagrid turned and his bearded face wrinkled into a warm smile, "Hi, Harry! How are you?" He replied. Then he noticed Draco standing with Harry and his friends. The smile suddenly lost some of its warmth, "This way Mister Malfoy!" he addressed Draco, "You hafta be sorted with the firs' years!" he called to him.

            Draco grimaced as he strode away without a word, heading toward the other end of the platform and Hagrid. Harry, Hermione, and Ron watched his retreating back with something akin to confusion on all of their faces. As they settled themselves inside one of the waiting carriages, Ron finally could not contain himself any more.

            "That Draco Malfoy gives me the creeps, Harry. As if being a Malfoy wasn't bad enough, he has those creepy eyes. I've never seen anyone with eyes that," he shivered "_cold_, before. Malfoy is a bad egg, Harry, and I don't think you should talk to him. He's probably into the dark arts like the rest of his family. That's probably why he left Durmstrang after Karkaroff disappeared, because there wasn't anyone to teach him that stuff there anymore."

            "Ron, just because someone has creepy eyes does not mean he's into the dark arts," Harry replied.

            "But Harry! He's a MALFOY! His family has been into the darks arts since the dawn of time, every last one of them. His father was one of You Know Who's top minions, but they never could pin it on him because he's got half the Ministry under his thumb! Draco is a Malfoy, it's in his blood to be evil!"

            "Innocent until proven guilty, Ron," said Hermione, breaking her silence, "But I do think we should be careful with him."

            The rest of the ride to the front steps of the schol was filled with an awkward silence as the occupants of the carriage pondered the nature of the strange new student.

************

Tada! And so the story begins. Tune in later for continuing episodes.  And yes, Draco is definitely and purposefully oc, but who knows what experiences he could have had at Durmstrang…

_Credits: Inspiration for the story came from the poem Freezing Point by Khirsah_

_PS: Please do review, and anyone who wants to be my beta, let me know. Also, anyone who is interested in drawing illustrations to go with the story, please contact me._


	2. Chapter Two

_Ok folks, here is #2. If you all have noticed, the reason these first few chapters are coming out so quickly is because they are already written. Things will slow down a bit eventually, but I got impatient and couldn't wait till they were all done to post. Oh well._

_Fun for lawyers: All Harry Potter characters and ideas belong to the almighty J.K. Rowling and I am in no way trying to claim her ideas as my own. I have created this story and used her characters and situations simply for my own overactive imagination to have something to do, and for the enjoyment of other overactive imaginations. I do not intend to make any kind of profit from this story._

Chapter 2 

The Great Hall echoed with the voices of hundreds of students, anxiously awaiting the sorting and start of term feast and discussing what kind of a group these new first years were. A few who had seen Draco Malfoy discussed the silver haired boy in hushed whispers, telling friends their theories on him and waiting to see him arrive with the first years. Harry looked up at the staff table in time to see Hagrid slip into his usual seat. The Sorting was not long away.

            A hush fell over the room as the doors to the entrance hall opened, and in stepped Professor McGonagall, as always, carrying the battered Sorting Hat perched atop a stool. Behind her followed a long line of first years with differing degrees of fear and apprehension painted on their faces.  The last of the line filed though the door as the front was just beginning to line up before the staff table, and every head in the Hall turned to stare at Draco Malfoy, marching proudly at the very end. He stood at least a head taller than all of the first years, and carried himself with an air of confidence, somehow managing to make his plain black school robes appear to be the fine attire of a powerful lord. Whispers ran like wildfire through the hall as Draco reached the staff table and turned to face the school. Suddenly the room seemed to grow colder and a few students shivered as Draco swept an icy glare across the hall. Harry could have sworn he saw the hanging candles flicker, as if in a strong wind. No one was whispering now.

            Draco stood before the hundreds of people, and schooled his face to remain blank. Inside he was tense, wound like a taught spring, a strange sensation twisting inside his gut. He scolded himself for allowing self-doubt to sink in. He knew that if he failed his father, if he failed the Malfoy name, now, he would never be forgiven. He must be sorted into Slytherin, and although he knew there was almost no doubt of it, he still felt the twisting feeling tighten as the rip in the tattered hat widened, and the Sorting Hat his father had told him of began to sing:

"In times of old when I was new 

_And Hogwarts barely started_

_The founders of our noble school_

_Though never to be parted:_

_United by a common goal,_

_They had the selfsame yearning,_

_To make the world's best magic school_

_And pass along their learning._

_"Together we will build and teach!"_

_The four good friends decided_

_And never did they dream that they_

_Might some day be divided,_

_For where were such friends anywhere_

_As Slytherin and Gryffindor?_

_Unless it was the second pair_

_Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?_

_So how could it have gone so wrong?_

_How could such friendships fail?_

_Why, I was there and so can tell_

_The whole sad sorry tale._

_Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those_

_Whose ancestry is purest."_

_Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose_

_Intelligence is surest."_

_Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those _

_With brave deeds to their name,"_

_Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot,_

_And teach them just the same."_

_These differences caused little strife_

_When first they came to light,_

_For each of the four founders had_

_A house in which they might_

_Take only those they wanted, so,_

_For instance, Slytherin_

_Took only pure-blood wizards,_

_Of great cunning, just like him,_

_And only those of sharpest mind _

_Were taught by Ravenclaw_

_While the bravest and the boldest_

_Went to daring Gryffindor._

_Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest,_

_And taught them all she knew,_

_Thus the houses and their founders_

_Retained friendships firm and true._

_So Hogwarts worked in harmony_

_For several happy years,_

_But then discord crept among us_

_Feeding on our faults and fears._

_The houses that, like pillars four,_

_Had once help up our school,_

_Now turned upon each-other and,_

_Divided, sought to rule._

_And for a while it seemed the school_

_Must meet an early end,_

_What with dueling and or fighting_

_And a clash of friend on friend_

_And at last there came a morning _

_When old Slytherin departed_

_And though the fighting then died out_

_He lest us quite downhearted._

_And never since the founders four_

_Were whittled down to three_

_Have the houses been united_

_As they once were meant to be._

_And now the sorting Hat is here_

_And you all know the score:_

_I sort you into houses_

_Because that is what I'm for,_

_But this year I'll go further,_

_Listen closely to my song:_

_Though condemned I am to split you_

_Still I worry that it's wrong,_

_Though I must fulfill my duty_

_And must quarter every year_

_Still I wonder whether sorting_

_May not bring the end I fear._

_Oh, know the perils, read the signs,_

_The warning history shows,_

_For our Hogwarts is in danger_

_From external, deadly foes_

_And we must unite inside her_

_Or we'll crumble from within,_

_I have told you, I have warned you…_

_Let the Sorting now begin."_

            As the tear in the brim again collapsed, the Great Hall filled with applause, but among the echoing sound of palm upon palm ran whispers of curiosity and doubt. Never before had the Sorting Hat chosen to sing of anything other than its task. Why did it choose to do so now? Was the school really in danger? And if it was, how would an old beaten hat know of it? The hall was quickly hushed again as Professor McGonagall shot a warning glare at the students, unfolded the scroll of paper in her hands and began reading off names,

            "Ashton, Mikhail."

            A sandy haired boy trudged forward, as if expecting the hat to bite him, but trying not to let the others see that. In a hurried frenzy, he jammed the hat down on his head. Barely two seconds later the hat opened it's brim and shouted "GRYFFINDOR!" a cheer went up from the Gryffindor table as the boy smiled and ran to find a seat.

            Slowly, the list of names progressed toward the end of the alphabet, and the number of first years on the stage became smaller and smaller. The last was an auburn haired girl named Lisette Zabini, who was promptly sorted into Slytherin. Now Draco stood alone on the stage with Professor McGonagall, and the entire school turned to him with a look of curiosity. Draco stood proudly; while in his head he went through a calming exercise he had learned at Durmstrang.

            "As you all have undoubtedly noticed," McGonagall addressed the students, "Hogwarts has decided to accept a new student beyond the age of incoming first years. He is a transfer student from Durmstrang and will be joining the fifth year class. I expect you all to help him get used to his new surroundings," Draco schooled a sneer away from his face, "and make him feel at home," she gestured toward the Sorting Hat, "Malfoy, Draco," she said, as if reading his name from the list.

            Draco stepped up to the stool, choosing not to sit down, and placed the tattered old hat on his head. In his ear he could suddenly hear a voice speaking,

            "Interesting, very odd indeed, you are cold Draco, very cold," said the voice, "What makes you so cold, my boy? This is strange magic, too much for this old hat, but no matter, I'm here to see what lies in your heart, not whether your blood runs hot or cold. Lets see…I see cunning… I see wit… I see courage. Yes, great courage. Tell me Draco, how far would you go to get what you wanted?" it asked. 

Draco thought to himself: _As far as I need to_.

"Ahah, I see. And you want Slytherin, my boy. That is true?" 

_Yes_, Draco answered.

"Then Slytherin you shall get." The next words were announced to the whole hall, "SLYTHERIN!" it shouted, and Draco removed the hat from his head, and went to join the table of cheering and clapping Slytherins.

Later that night, Draco sat in the Slytherin common room, conversing with a few of his new house mates. The room was lit with an eerie green light, the deep, high backed armchairs casting shadows on those who occupied them. Firelight flickered over tables and the bare stone walls but did not come close to warming the chill of the room. 

Draco and two other fifth years had pulled their chairs into a semi circle around one of the fire places lining the walls. A girl by the name of Pansy Parkinson sat with her legs curled up in the chair next to Draco, and opposite him sat an auburn haired boy with a lit cigarette in his mouth: Blaise Zabini.

"I saw you standing with that Potter and his Gryffindor friends at the train platform, Draco," said Blaise, tapping cigarette ashes onto the floor.

Draco leaned forward in his chair, the firelight lighting his face with an uncharacteristically warm glow, "Yes I was. I sat with them on the train here as well. I couldn't pass up a chance to speak with the _famous_ Harry Potter," he smirked.

Pansy tittered from her chair and Blaise flashed a wry grin. "From the sound of it, they were more boring and idiotic than I would have thought they could be," said Blaise.

"They all are, those Gryffindors. With their silly pride and _courage_," Pansy tittered again, "Honestly what could be more annoying?"

In his head Draco heard the voice of the sorting hat speaking to him… _I see courage. Yes, great courage_…he grimaced. "How unpleasant," he replied, not exactly sure of whether he was speaking to Pansy or himself. He found Harry Potter and his friends interesting, if nothing else, and couldn't help wondering what would have happened if he had been placed in Gryffindor. No, he was meant to be a Slytherin. His father had said so; it was where he belonged. Running a hand though his hair, he decided to change the subject.

"Are there any openings on the house quidditch team, Blaise?" he asked.

"Well actually, yes. The seeker we've had for the past few years hasn't been doing all that well, says he wants to play chaser. And since the captain, one of the chasers, graduated last year, he's switching to it. So the seeker position is open. Why? Do you play?"

Draco's eyes glinted like polished steel, "Tell the captain he has a new seeker."

A wry grin spread across Blaises's face.

The following morning Harry and Ron sat in drowsy silence as they munched on pieces of toast in the Great Hall. The ceiling above was a misty gray color, threatening rain later that day. A few minutes later, Hermione strode briskly to the table and sat down opposite the boys. 

"So what do you think, Harry? Ron?" she asked.

"Opf wa?" Ron attempted to speak around a mouthful of toast. Hermione gave him a disgusted look. He finished chewing, and swallowed, "Of what, Hermione?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Of the Sorting Hat's song last night. It's never done anything like that before."

"Hermione, its just a stupid hat. It doesn't know what it's talking about. Hogwarts isn't going to fall apart," Ron replied.

"Ron, don't be dense. What with You Know Who back, who knows what could happen," Hermione frowned at Ron, "I think the Sorting Hat is right. If anything were to happen to Hogwarts right now, we'd never be able to get anything done; the houses would spend the entire time arguing. We have to work together."

"Are you saying that you want us to make friends with Slytherins? Talk about digging your own grave, Hermione. We might as well walk up to a hungry dragon and ask it to turn vegetarian," Ron answered.

"Ron, can't you see that that is the exact attitude the Sorting Hat was warning us about?" Hermione glared at him, "Harry, you agree with me, don't you?"

Harry started. Throughout the argument he had been attempting to engross himself in pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate, hoping that Hermione would forget he was there. He had been thinking about Draco, who was now a Slytherin. Those cold gray eyes had been haunting him since the Sorting last night, when Draco had walked proudly to join the Slytherin table, had joined the ranks of the enemy. To tell the truth, he didn't think it was possible for a Slytherin and a Gryffindor to be friends, no matter how appealing the idea was. They were just too different. "Well, uh, yeah sorta," he stuttered.

Hermione frowned, "Harry, you, of all people, should agree with this."

"Well yeah, I do. It's a good idea, I just don't see how-"

Hermione cut him off, "So you'd rather risk the well being of the entire school, Harry, than do anything that might injure you're pride!" Hermione glared daggers at Harry, then shifted her glare to include Ron as well, "Well, just because no one else is going to try doesn't mean I won't." And with that, she snatched a piece of toast from the table and left.

"Takes things just a tad to seriously, Hermione does," said Ron, watching her retreating back.

"Hmm," Harry said noncommittally, and continued to prod his eggs with his fork, the image of steely cold eyes in an elfin face drifting in and out of his vision.

Later the same day, Draco emerged from the Slytherin common room wearing strangely colored gray and black quidditch robes and carrying a broom under one arm. Behind him trotted Blaise Zabini, wearing Slytherin green and silver robes, a cigarette in one hand, and his own broom in the other.

"Strange getup you got there, Draco," Blaise said, eying the odd coloring of Draco's robes.

"It's my uniform from Durmstrang. Since we didn't have houses we were allowed to form our own teams and compete in a yearly tournament. These were my team's colors," Draco replied.

"Pretty drab coloring if you ask me: gray and black," Blaise commented, "Who picked it?"

"The team captain, of course," Draco smirked, "Me."

Blaise cringed under Draco's cool gaze, "Oops, sorry," he nervously puffed on his cigarette, and changed the subject, "Anyway, lemme tell ya a bit about the team before you get out under the spotlight. The captain's name is Jim Montague, but just call him Montague. He's one of the chasers. The other two are Warrington and me. The keeper is a guy named Bletchley, he doesn't talk much, but he does his job. The beaters positions are open too, but I'm pretty sure Montague has his sights set on that pair of oafs Crabbe and Goyle for those."

Draco frowned. He'd seen Crabbe  and Goyle at the Slytherin table the night before, stuffing their faces full of everything edible. His father was friends with their families, so Draco had met them before: dumb as a pair of fence posts. His father had suggested he make friends with them, but Draco could hardly stand their presence for more than a few minutes.

Blaise grinned crookedly when he saw the look on Draco's face, "I don't think too highly of that pair either, but each of  'em can hit a bludger so hard you'll go cross eyed. Sacrifices must be made if you want to win the game, eh Draco?"

By now they had reached the quidditch pitch, and Draco raised his gray eyes to study the cloud filled sky.

            Blaise did the same, "Looks like we lucked out. No rain," he said.

            Draco nodded, "No sun in our eyes either, but it is windy" as he said that a piece of silver blonde hair whipped across his eyes. Reaching into a pocket, he pulled out a piece of long black string, "I figured I'd have to do this," he said as he reached back and tied his hair into a neat ponytail.

            Blaise smirked and shook his head, "Long hair, Draco. How do you stand it? I can barely deal with mine as it is," he held up a short lock of auburn hair.

            Draco looked up, finishing the knot in the string. His eyes glinted like cold steel, "It keeps the back of my neck warm," he grinned crookedly, "Now where is our captain?"

            Just then, the locker room doors open and out came the rest of the Slytherin quidditch team. At their head was a bulky figure that must have been Montague. Draco and Blaise met them at the center of the pitch.

            "So," said Montague, weighing Draco with his eyes, "You're the one who wants the Seeker spot, right?" he said in a condescending tone.

            Draco returned his calculating stare, "That's right."

            "Let me see your broom," said Montague, and stuck out his hand.

            Draco smirked and handed his broom over. Montague's eyes went wide and a pleased grin spread across his face. He licked his lips like a hungry dog, "A Firebolt! I like you already, Malfoy. This is the same broom as that fleabag Potter has," he chuckled, "Potter won't be able to trounce us anymore, if we've got this!"

            Another of the players, a wiry brunette boy with crooked teeth, shouted from behind Montague, "Yeah, but can he fly it? He's no use if he falls of mid game!"

            Montague turned around and snapped, "Shut up Warrington, I know that perfectly well!" He turned to Draco and thrust the broom back at him, "Here, show us you know how to fly this thing, and you've got the spot." He turned and went over to a chest near the other players, knelt down and opened it, "Mount up. I'm setting loose the snitch. You have a minute to catch it," and with that he undid the straps holding down the snitch and off it went.

            Draco mounted his broom and took off after the snitch, never once letting his eyes leave the tiny gold ball. He lay flat on his broom as he sped through the air, twisting and turning on the erratic trail of the snitch. The wind whipped at his face, stinging cold, but he ignored it, focused on catching the snitch. One moment he was speeding toward the heavens, the next hurtling toward the ground, then pivoting and speeding upward again. He was enjoying every second of it, and he was closing in. A moment later, he was barely a few inches away from the snitch, and reached out his hand to finish off the job. Suddenly something hit him from the side, hard. Draco's broom spun in the air, and he hung on tight, gasping for breath. 

            Once Draco had righted his broom, he turned to see himself flanked on either side by Crabbe and Goyle, beater's bats in hand. Crabbe was getting ready to hit another bludger his way.  Goyle chuckled stupidly, "Beaters' tryouts today too, Draco!" he called.

            Draco felt himself filled with ice-cold rage: his gut was cold and his fingers frozen with anger. Montague had said nothing about the beaters trying to stop him! Shooting Crabbe and icy glare, he narrowly avoided the bludger he sent hurtling his way. He flexed his fingers and set his sights on the snitch again, which was now much further ahead. He had to catch it before those two bumbling idiots could hit him with any more bludgers.

            Keeping an eye out for Crabbe and Goyle, he put on a burst of speed, lying flat on his broom, and again set out behind the snitch. Suddenly it stopped and hovered for a second, then made a sharp turn to the left. Draco followed, spinning his broom in place and taking off again. As he turned he caught sight of Goyle as he hit a bludger straight at Draco. Rolling over on his broom, Draco let the bludger pass over him. Righting himself, he sped after the snitch. The fluttering gold ball was now just within reach, and Draco lunged for it. He felt his hand close tightly on the tiny wings, the snitch secure in his palm. Draco sneered at the two beaters, and sped toward the ground, pulled up sharply, stopped his broom, and dismounted.

            The snitch still clutched tightly in his gloved hand, he stalked over to Montague, with every intention of shoving the thing down his throat, "What was that about, eh, you muggle brained idiot?" Draco shouted at Montague, glaring ice-cold daggers, "Go get the snitch you said, not go get the snitch while trying not to be killed by two blundering oafs!"

            A crooked grin spread across Montague's face, "But you caught the snitch didn't you?" he glanced at his watch, "In forty five seconds. You get the job Malfoy."

            Draco's lip curled, "Of course I caught it, what did you expect me to do? Dance the lambada?"

            Montague laughed, "I like your attitude, Malfoy. Now lets get you suited for a uniform." Montague turned and headed toward the locker rooms. Draco followed, the rest of the team some distance behind, giving Draco a wide berth.

            Harry sat in the windowsill of his dorm room, gazing out over the Hogwarts grounds, dimly lit by the setting, overcast sun. In the distance, he could see tiny figures moving on the quidditch pitch. He could just make out the silver and green coloring of their robes: the Slytherin team.

            Suddenly, a lone figure took off into the air. This one was dressed differently from the others: somber black from what Harry could see. A ponytail of silver blonde hair trailed out behind the figure; it was Draco Malfoy.  Draco twisted and turned in the air, appearing to be following something. _Probably the snitch_, Harry thought.

            A moment later, two other figures dressed in green lifted off from the ground: these appeared to be carrying beaters bats. Harry cringed when Draco's progress across the sky was suddenly halted as he was pelted by a bludger from one of the two beaters. _This must be seekers tryouts_, Harry thought, _they're testing him out_. Draco quickly set his broom back on course, and a moment after neatly dodging another bludger, Harry could see him halt midair and speed toward the ground, something clutched in his fist. The whole thing had lasted less than a minute. 

            From what he had seen, Draco was an excellent flyer. There was no way the Slytherin captain wouldn't accept Draco as seeker after seeing that performance. Harry turned away from the window and moved to sit down on the edge of his bed, resting his chin on one hand. _So Draco Malfoy is the new Slytherin seeker._ Harry began to feel slightly ill.

**************

_So Draco has been placed in Slytherin, and is having doubts about his house mates, but has decided to become house Seeker anyway (hey, a boy's gotta have his Quidditch ok? ;-) Hmm…_

_Credits: To my muse Camille_

_ The Sorting Hat's song comes directly from The Order of the Phoenix (thank you JKR)_

_Ps: Remember, I'm still looking for a beta reader and an illustrator. And reviews are very welcome *elbow, elbow.    Wink, wink*_


	3. Chapter Three

_Whew! Ok, the third chapter if now written, edited, and by the time you all are reading this, posted. The writing should hopefully be a bit better quality thanks to my lovely new beta readers: Mon2, Jedi-Suzuran, and Ice Angel6 (you guys are great!). In this new chapter: A peek inside Draco's head, potions class, as well as those dastardly Slytherins being, well…dastardly Slytherins. Read and enjoy!_

_Legalities: Although I love them dearly, they are not mine *kneels before J.K.R*_

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Chapter 3

Later that week, the Gryffindor Quidditch team stood assembled on the pitch in a semicircle around Angelina Johnson. The sky was a clear blue, the stormy gray clouds from a few days ago long gone. Angelina, the new captain, was giving a lecture on this year's strategy, but Harry was not paying all that much attention. He was staring down at the grass around Angelina's feet, trying not to think about the potions essay Snape had assigned two days ago; it was due tomorrow and he had not even started yet.

            "Harry!" Angelina snapped, startling Harry out of his reverie, "I've called your name at least five times by now! Have you heard anything I said at all?"

            "Uh…" Harry tried to recall what Angelina had been talking about. She had said something about the Slytherin team, but for the life of him, he had no idea what it was, "Not really, I'm sorry Angelina. Got a lot on my mind."

            "Well then let me just add one more little thing to your load," she said frowning, "We know Slytherin's seeker position is open this year. Seeing as you are our seeker, I'm making it your job, Harry, to keep tabs on whoever gets the position. You got any idea who it is, by the way? Slytherin's trying their best to keep it under wraps."

            Harry felt his stomach sink. He knew _exactly_ who Slytherin's new seeker was, and really did not want to think about it at the moment, "Actually I do. I saw them practicing out my dorm window." There was something about Draco that made Harry feel uneasy, and now he was going to have to play against him. "It's Draco Malfoy."

            Harry saw a couple of his teammates shift uneasily upon hearing the Slytherin's name, and Angelina bit her lip, "The new Slytherin fifth year?" Draco Malfoy had the entire school on edge. There was something just plain spooky about him, "Talk about a wild card, Harry. I hate to say it, but you've got your work cut out for you. Who knows what he's capable of."

            Harry nodded as Angelina continued, "Now we also know that Slytherin has new beaters this year: two oafs by the names of Crabbe and Goyle. I don't know if any of you have seen 'em, but from what I've heard they're basically gorillas on brooms. They've got a lot of power, but nothing up here." She said as she pointed at her head. "Fred and George shouldn't have a problem with them."

            The Weasley twins' faces lit up with identical confident grins. "No prob, Angelina," said George.

            "Got it covered," echoed Fred.

            Angelina smiled, "Good. Now the only thing left to take care of is our keeper. We need someone good enough to take Wood's place. Any ideas?" She looked around at the rest of the team.

            Katie looked at Alicia and snapped her fingers, "Oh I know! Alicia's little sister Elizabeth. She's a second year now, and she played keeper for us all summer while we practiced. She's not half bad."

            "Ok, so Elizabeth Spinnet is one choice. Anyone else?"

            The rest of the team stood in silence, looking at each other for inspiration and finding none.

            "Well then, we'll just have to hold an open tryout for keeper. I'll post a signup sheet in the common room for next Monday. I want to see all of you there, and Alicia, make sure your sister shows up," Pausing, she glanced at the team members before continuing. "Now if no one else has anything to add, let's get started with practice. I want to see everyone working on individual maneuvers: dives, turns, stopping midair, loops, rolls and spins. Work out whatever rust you've accumulated, and brush up on old moves. I want to be able to out fly every other team in this school, especially Slytherin. We know they play dirty, but they can't beat us if they can't touch us. Mount up." She finished with a smile, kicked one leg over her broom, and took off.

            With that, the entire Gryffindor team lifted off into the air and began weaving in an erratic web across the sky. Some players teamed up to help each other, others practiced zigzagging through the goal hoops or racing across the field. It felt good to see the familiar red and gold blurs whizzing across the field as Harry rose above the rest of the team. Harry forgot about the potions essay looming over his shoulder, about Draco Malfoy, about everything but the wind whipping at his robes as he rose higher and higher into the sky.

            Harry practiced diving and rolls, even trying out the Wronski Feint, which he was getting pretty good at. After pulling up sharply into the air, he took a moment to survey the other players. As his eyes swept across the field, he saw someone lingering in the locker room door.  The figure suddenly looked his way and slipped out of sight, but not before Harry caught a glimpse of silver blonde hair and cold gray eyes. Even from this distance, Draco Malfoy's eyes stood out eerily from his pale face. There was no mistaking who had been watching the Gryffindors' practice. 

            There was nothing Harry could really do about it now. Draco was probably long gone, now that he knew he had been caught, and even if he was not, he would be before Harry could get to the ground and start looking for him. When practice was over, he pulled Angelina aside and told her what he had seen.

            "And you didn't say anything?!" She hissed at him.

            "By the time I saw him, he was already leaving. There was nothing we could do about it anyways." Harry replied.

            Harry could practically see the steam coming out of Angelina's ears. "I HATE Slytherins!" She exclaimed, clenching her fists in frustration. "Well, I'm not stooping down to their level, so don't you dare go trying to spy on their practices, Harry! We'll win this fair and square. We don't need to cheat to win."

            That night, Draco Malfoy sat alone in his dormitory. The rest of the Slytherin fifth years were still sitting in the common room; most working on Snape's potions essay. Draco's finished essay sat on his bedside table, blocked from view by the green drapes he had closed around his bed. Draco sat cross-legged in the middle, staring down at a small object cradled in his long fingers.  

            A tiny amount of light slipped through a slim opening in the curtains, striking the small object and making it glitter and sparkle in Draco's dim surroundings. It was a tiny ice sculpture, carved in the shape of a Quidditch player on a broom: a Quidditch player with short, shaggy hair and round glasses. Draco turned it over in his hands, letting the light dance over the smooth, glassy surface of the ice, playing on flowing robes and gloved hands. But no matter how long Draco held the ice figure, it did not melt. Not a single drop of water ran over his pale hands nor dampened the sheets beneath them. Neither did it change, fixing its tiny eyes upon some distant point, never moving, indifferent to the gentle fingers that moved over its crystal planes.

            As he stared at the tiny figurine, the gray hue of Draco's eyes was colder than the ice in his hands, but the usually emotionless features of his face betrayed what he refused to let any living creature see. Pain. It was etched across Draco's face, in the twist of his mouth, the set of his jaw, and the lines formed between his brows.

            It was always like this for him, at home, in England. At Durmstrang in the frigid north he was numbed by the bitter ice storms and biting winds. There, he could forget England, forget his father, forget his duties, and let it all grow cold and shatter like a thin sheet of ice, falling away from him. Here, where the wind did not hurt so much, and the sun gave warmth as well as light, he felt it all return. He was alone, and colder inside than the bitterest winter storm. He felt brittle, like an icicle clinging to a branch or a thin layer of frost, terrified that at the slightest breeze, he would break into a thousand pieces. 

            He was never quite sure just why he felt like this, but he had for a very long time. It had started when his father had begun teaching him what it meant to be the heir to the Malfoy fortune, and what his place was in the world. Lucius had not been easy on him, he never was, but Draco had learned what his father expected of him. He had learned that his place was a high one, and a lonely one, and that was how it was meant to be. Once he had started at Durmstrang, he had immersed himself in his studies and mastered everything he was given. Karkaroff had begun teaching him personally, guiding him in a study of ancient magic, magic from a time before wands, when wizards wielded immeasurable power, before the Magic became diluted and weak through disuse and folly. The terrible ache had increased then, but only when he came home for the summer. He began to feel more and more distanced, isolated from everyone. His mother often worried at the chilled feel of Draco's skin, the icy touch of his hands, but he merely said it was nothing, and simply refrained from human contact. He had long forgotten how it felt to be warm.

            He stared down at the ice figure in his hands, the image of what had caused him much confusion lately, and no small amount of pain. Harry Potter puzzled him to no end; he was like no one Draco had ever met before. Harry radiated _something _to everyone near him, something that made people smile at him, made people gravitate toward him, and made Draco want to hurl himself off the top of Gryffindor Tower. Whatever it was magnified the frozen ache in Draco's gut to unbearable levels, but at the same time Draco was finding it harder and harder to keep Harry Potter out of his head. 

            Suddenly the clock in the common room struck a quarter till midnight, and Draco could hear the door to the dormitory swing open. The smell of cigarette smoke wafted across the room as Blaise's voice penetrated the drapes around Draco's bed. "Draco, you still awake?" he questioned in his usual haughty tones.

            Silently, Draco let go of the ice figure, watching it disappear into a cloud of cool mist before it hit the sheets. Without rustling the sheets, Draco stretched out on his bed, faking the deep, slow breaths of slumber.

            A hand jerked open the curtains and candlelight fell across Draco's face. Through a tiny slit in his eyelids, Draco could see Blaise flash his characteristic crooked grin as he looked down upon him, "Guess not," he said, laughing as a he blew a plume of cigarette smoke into Draco's bed and closed the curtains, heading toward his own bed. Draco fell asleep trying not to breath in the smoke while listening to Blaise kick off his boots onto the floor and prepare for bed.

The following Monday, Harry trudged through the long corridors of the school, his heavy, book-laden bag slung over his shoulder. Ron and Hermione on either side of him, looking equally tired and disgruntled. They were on their way to their last class of the day: Double Potions with the Slytherins. They had already had a dreadfully grueling day in their other classes, with all of their teachers piling on the work in preparation for their O.W.L.S. Harry wanted nothing more than to get his last class over with and head to Quidditch practice for the Keeper tryouts, but that was not going to happen any time soon.

Eventually they reached the door to Snape's dungeon classroom, which was blocked by a crowd of students waiting for the Professor to arrive. The crowd was split into two groups: the Gryffindors on one side, Slytherins on the other; each group occasionally shooting dirty looks in the other's direction. Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the Gryffindors and set their bags on the floor to wait for Snape. From where he was standing, Harry had a clear view of the Slytherins, including Draco. Draco appeared to be talking with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, as well as a few hangers on that Harry could not put a name to. Pansy and Blaise were doing most of the talking though, while Draco stood silently, his pale elfin face void of expression as he put in a word every once in a while. The other Slytherins laughed occasionally at Blaise's ever-witty commentary, but seemed at a loss for words whenever Draco spoke. 

"Look at them," Ron said, following Harry's gaze, "Even the Slytherins are afraid of Malfoy. I tell you, Harry, there's something just plain wrong about him."

Harry frowned, "He is - "  at that precise moment, Hermione, who had also been looking in the Slytherins' direction, took off on a bee-line toward Pansy, Draco, and Blaise. "What is she doing?!" He stared wide-eyed after her.

"Uh-oh. Hermione! Have you completely lost it?!" Ron shouted after her.

Ron's shout only served to draw the attention of the entire potions class toward Hermione, who seemed to have increased her pace at the sound of her name.  In moments she was standing directly in front of Blaise Zabini, whose usually surly expression changed to surprise as he looked down at the bushy haired girl before of him. All of the Slytherins had stopped to stare in differing degrees of surprise at this lone Gryffindor who had the audacity to infringe upon their territory. All except Draco, who only looked mildly interested.

"She's gone nutters!" Ron muttered at the same time that Blaise regained his composure.

"Afternoon, Granger," he said, sneering down at her, "That is your name isn't it? Granger?"

"_Hermione_ Granger, thank you." She replied as she drew herself up to her full height, barely managing to reach Blaise's shoulders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Ron curl his fingers into anxious fists and bite down on his lip. This did not look good at all. Hermione _had_ gone nutters.

"I was wondering, Blaise," she began, "if you and the rest of your house had given any thought to the Sorting Hat's words before the Ceremony this year."

Ron moaned and covered his face with one hand, but no one noticed as all eyes were on Hermione.

"Well, actually Granger, now that you mention it, we have," Blaise grinned.

"I'm glad to hear it. In that case I was wondering if the Slytherins would be interested in declaring a truce with Gryffindor, in the best interest of the school. Of course, we could still compete for the House Cup, but it would be solely good-natured competition. No fights or pranks … not like it has been for the past several years," Hermione smiled confidently.

Harry could see where this was going, and it did not look good. He watched as the grin on Blaise's face changed from pleasant to malicious. He could almost hear Blaise's words before they left his mouth.

"Oh, but my dear Granger," he said patronizingly, "what you don't understand is that what I said was we had given the Sorting Hat's words some thought. What I didn't say was that we thought they were utter, idiotic rubbish. Any sane person would have noticed that the Sorting Hat is nothing but a battered old hat that puts first years where they belong. Nothing more," he said with a sneer.

"And certainly not capable of giving advice!" Pansy quipped.

"Only a Gryffindor would listen to the words of an old hat. In other words, there's no way in hell we'd declare a - "

"Wait," spoke a calm, cool voice from behind Blaise's shoulder, "A truce might prove interesting. A challenge, if nothing else," Draco said as he stepped up next to Blaise. His face remained emotionless as he met Hermione's now angry brown eyes with his chilling gaze. "Why not, Blaise?"

Blaise just barely caught himself from lashing out before he realized who he would be insulting. The gears in his head began to spin rapidly as he tried to grasp the point behind Draco's interference. Suddenly he grinned and said, "Alright Granger, you get your truce. I'll make sure the entire Slytherin house knows it, if you'll do the same for your house. Deal?" He held out his hand.

"Deal," Hermione replied tersely, and shook his hand. Then she turned on her heel and rejoined Harry and Ron.

Ron was still in a state of shock from what he had just witnessed, so Harry said what they both were thinking. "What in the world made you do that Hermione? I mean, so suddenly, and why did you have to ask Blaise, of all people?"

By now Ron had somewhat regained his composure, "Yeah, Hermione. You know that the only reason he didn't just chew you up and spit you back out right there was because he's afraid of Malfoy."

"And he almost did anyway. Hermione, are you sure you're ok?" said Harry.

"There is nothing wrong with me, Harry. I did that because I do believe what the Sorting Hat told us, as I have already told you. I figured, since the rest of you were too stubborn or scared to do it, I would just do it myself. Someone had to do it," she said.

"But why Blaise?!" asked Ron.

"Because the rest of the Slytherins listen to him, and if I didn't get him to agree, none of them would!" she glared at Harry and Ron.

            Just then Snape rounded the corner and the students parted to let him through. Wordlessly, he opened the door and stepped into the dungeon classroom, the crowd of students trickling in behind him.

            An hour later, Harry stood over his cauldron, watching it slowly turn from a sickly yellow color to a bright, lime green. It was a little runnier than it should have been, but the invisibility potion he had just finished would at least serve to make one relatively transparent. The entire hour, Harry had found it rather difficult to concentrate on his potion. His lack of concentration had not been for the usual reasons: the incessant taunting of the Slytherins and the forbidding presence of Snape, but rather from the lack thereof.

            So far, class had been spent in an uneasy silence between the Gryffindors and Slytherins, the air almost crackling with the tension of attempting to keep the "truce". Even Snape had seemed to catch on to the strange lack of competition between the two houses and had made relatively few negative comments. Instead, he spent the majority of the period sitting behind his desk, grading papers and scowling at the students. 

            Harry had been almost used to the warlike atmosphere of Snape's dungeon, and was finding this odd change from the norm even more unsettling than the previous situation. This, plus the uneasy feeling that someone was watching him, kept Harry's mind away from his work. Of course, halfway through the period Harry had discovered that the reason he had felt someone was watching him was because someone _was_.

            He had been ignoring the strange itching feeling on the back of his neck for quite some time, dismissing it as paranoia and tension about the "truce", when finally he could not stand it anymore and turned to look warily over his shoulder. His emerald gaze was immediately met by another the color of cold steel from two tables back. Draco Malfoy did not even pretend not to have been looking, but stared serenely back at Harry. Harry shivered and turned around, trying hard to continue thinking about grinding the beetle shells that he had been working on.

            He had spent the entire period alternating between making the invisibility potion, trying to resist the urge to turn around and check if Draco was still staring, and giving in to that urge only to be met yet again by that chilling silver stare. How it was that Draco managed to produce a perfect potion whilst staring at the back of Harry's head the entire period, Harry had no clue. But Draco's potion, when tested on a rat Snape procured from one of the many shelves in the room, caused the rat to completely disappear for the entire two minute time span the potion should last for. Harry's came no where near Draco's performance, which Snape did not forget to mention.

            Just as the class was leaving, and Harry had finished gathering his things, Snape's voice rang out across the room, "Potter, if I were you, of which I am grateful not to be, I would be ashamed of my performance in class today. The fact that a transfer student who has not even attended this school for a full year can so severely outclass you in this subject is most disappointing. Mister Malfoy, perhaps you could offer our dear school celebrity some tutoring outside of class." He muttered in that venomous tone that was somehow capable of being heard over the noise of the retreating students. Quite a few Slytherins could be seen fighting hard to keep from snickering, lest they damage the so-called truce. 

            Harry did not even have to turn and look to know that Draco's face remained a mask as he replied ambiguously, "Perhaps, Professor," while Harry and the rest of the class filed out of the room.

            That afternoon while Harry headed off to Quidditch practice, Draco sat next to Blaise Zabini in the Slytherin common room, surrounded by the entire Slytherin fifth year. All of them had been present at the scene in the corridor before potions class, and all were eager to know what this "truce" was all about. Certainly Blaise did not actually intend to declare a truce with _Gryffindors_?

            Pansy was the first to voice what they all were thinking, "Blaise, dear, please tell me that there is a catch to this truce. You honestly don't think that mudblood Granger is right, do you?"

            "But Pansy, don't you see it? If we don't stop picking on the Gryffindor this moment, the entire school will crumble to pieces. The welfare of the school depends on us!" Blaise replied enthusiastically.

            As Pansy's jaw fell open, she was joined by quite a few others whose eyes had begun to resemble those of a gaggle of frogs. Other Slytherins just looked extremely worried; most likely wondering if Blaise had completely lost his mind.

            Blaise allowed the shocked silence to endure for a time before bursting into raucous peals of laughter. As soon as he had caught his breath he replied, "Did you actually expect me to fall for that idiotic Gryffindor plot? Hell, I almost downright rejected it for sheer lunacy, but lucky for us, Draco pointed something out to me. By suggesting we actually agree to this 'truce' he let me see the opportunity I almost missed. Right, Draco?"

            Throughout this exchange, Draco had sat in silence, which was hardly different from his norm.  Not a single expression had flickered through his eyes the entire time, but he had felt decidedly uneasy about this "meeting" from the start. He had seen no plot behind Hermione's words, perhaps a bit of brash thinking, but no ill intent. Draco had meant what he had said as well. He saw no point to the constant bickering and fighting between the two houses. In saying what he had, he was only attempting to seize an opportunity and present it in the most appealing way possible to the rest of the Slytherins. Thinking back, he realized he had acted without thinking, without considering that Blaise would never take words like those at face value. Blaise was the kind of person that, because he himself lied, cheated, and imbued his words with double meanings, assumed that everyone else did as well. Mentally scolding himself, Draco decided that he now had no choice but to play along with Blaise's act. "Of course," he replied confidently.

            "Draco had noticed what I did not. In trying to get me to agree to this truce, Granger was really trying to secure a sure shot for Gryffindor to win the house cup. If we had agreed to the truce, Gryffindor would have had the opportunity to do as they pleased, with us out of the way. What she _didn't_ realize, so full of her confidence and Gryffindor "bravery", was that no one can beat a Slytherin for plotting, and Draco here, saw right through her."

            "Would you quit milking it, Blaise and just tell us what your big plan is?" said Pansy impatiently.

            Blaise grinned malevolently, "Don't you see it, Pansy? Thanks to Draco we can use the Gryffindors' plot against them. If they're expecting us to keep this idiotic truce, they won't be watching their backs, not like we will be. We'll be ready if they try anything, but they won't know what hit them when we do break this truce, not until it's too late."

            The circle of faces surrounding Blaise suddenly lit up with grins to rival his own. Excited chatter broke out as the momentous possibilities this plan had opened up to them dawned upon them all. Pansy leapt at Blaise and squeezed him enthusiastically, "Blaise, you're a genius. You're the best thing that's happened to this house in a long time!" She squealed.

            Once he could breathe again Blaise said, "But Pansy, don't forget. It wasn't me who came up with this lovely plot, I only helped it come to life. The credit for this one goes to Draco."

            At the mention of Draco's name, the cluster of students suddenly quieted as they all turned to look at the blonde. Since uttering those previous two words, he had sat stiffly in his chair, running calming exercises in his head which were having trouble competing with the voice that clamored inside screaming: 'Idiot!' In all honesty, he had seen no point to the childish bickering between the two houses. He had wanted the house cup to be a fair match, deciding once and for all who the victor was. Perhaps then Slytherin and Gryffindor would quit wasting time and effort on this petty war! He had thought that the truce would solve the problem, but instead it had only magnified it tenfold. He had forgotten that the Slytherin house was known for playing dirty and now he realized that in their minds, they saw no other way. They did not realize that in order to win, they had to beat the Gryffindors at their own game: an honorable fight without a single underhanded move that Slytherin house could be called on. It was infuriating that he had not seen this coming, had not calculated this reaction. He had acted without thinking and now he would pay! He was in a mess of his own making, and there was nothing to do now but wait out the storm. 

            He suddenly realized that the crowd of faces staring at him was waiting for approval. Draco did what was expected of him: He smiled a chilling grin that didn't quite reach his eyes, and said, "It was nothing." Which was true, it was nothing.

*********

_So what did you think? *bats eyelashes*.  Any questions? suggestions? If so, feel free to leave a review (any review is a good review in my book ;-) If not, well…come back soon!_

_Credits: my lovely new betas… Mon2, Jedi-Suzuran, and Ice Angel6 :-D_

_Coming soon: the new Gryffindor keeper_

_                      Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch game!_

_                      Lucius Malfoy makes an appearance_


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